"Perfect," she said. "You must have it carved on his tombstone."
"I think it meets the case. I may have been prejudiced in my affection for him, owing to his affection for me. He came to me at the age of five weeks, and his attitude to me from the first was devoted."
"Cats have such cajoling ways."
"He was not himself honest, yet, I think, saw the value of honesty in others. Plain dealers are a temptation to rogues and none, as a rule, is a better judge of an honest man than a dishonest cat."
"He wasn't quite a rogue, was he?"
"He knew that I am respected, and he traded on my reputation. His life has been spared on more than one occasion for my sake."
"On the whole he was not a very model cat, I'm afraid," said Estelle.
"Yes, that is just what he was: a model—cat."
They went out to look at the grave again, and something hurried away through the bushes as they did so.
"Friends, or possibly enemies," suggested Mr. Churchouse, but Estelle, sharper-eyed, saw Abel disappear. She also noted that her bouquet of flowers had gone from Peter's mound.